


how light carries on endlessly

by serenbach



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Ignoct Big Bang, Immortal Noctis, Immortality, M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: At thirty, when Noctis had first left the crystal, he had looked old in comparison to his friends.At forty, they had made jokes about the benefits of getting enough beauty sleep.At fifty, when it was clear that he hadn't aged a day, the jokes stopped being funny.Once, Noctis had to come to terms with the idea of dying young and leaving his friends behind. Now he has cope with the knowledge that he will outlive everyone he has ever loved.And while Noctis has lost family and friends before now, the idea of losing his husband is much harder to deal with.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 32
Kudos: 119
Collections: The Ignoct Big Bang 2019





	how light carries on endlessly

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my entry for the ignoct mini bang! I've had this idea for a while and just needed a push to write it!
> 
> With massive heartfelt thanks to [LuceniaMaem](https://twitter.com/LuceniaMaem) for the absolutely gorgeous [art](https://twitter.com/LuceniaMaem/status/1217733527032094721) (please make sure to like and retweet!) and to [somestarvingartist](https://somestarvingartist.tumblr.com/) for the beta.
> 
> Thank you also to the wonderful mods for running the event!
> 
> The title is from "Saturn" by Sleeping at Last.
> 
> **Important note:** as Noctis is immortal, all of the Chocobros will die in the course of this fic. If you want to know how before reading the fic, I have written the causes of death in the end notes.

Noctis could see the reflection of his suit in the mirror as he drew the razor carefully across his chin.

Black on black, the Lucian skulls on the tie and waistcoat embroidered in black silk, invisible until they caught the light. It was as elaborate a suit as anything he had ever worn, but there was, at his own insistence, no sash and no cloak.

The comfortable, comparatively simple outfit was his own fiftieth birthday present to himself.

“You’re going to be late for your own party at this rate,” Ignis informed him, walking into the bathroom, already dressed and ready to go. His suit was almost as black as the one he would be wearing, and the rarely worn consort’s crown was above his brow. 

“You look… incredible,” Noctis said, eyeing him up and down. 

A small frown touched Ignis’ face as he came to join him at the mirror, and as Noctis gazed at their reflections, he knew why, even if they had been avoiding discussing it. 

At fifty-two, the lines around Ignis’ eyes and mouth, the touch of white in his hair and the way he carried himself only made him more handsome, as Noctis would always take the opportunity to say when asked (and sometimes even if no-one had actually asked). He had definitely grown into his looks.

Noctis, however, looked the same as he did the day he walked out of the crystal, though his eyes were now permanently violet (and well, he’d shaved, at Iggy’s request). 

“It looks like I’m going through a midlife crisis,” Ignis said, the frown deepening as he looked between their faces, comparing them.

“Well, I’ve always been your boy-toy,” Noctis said lightly, trying to ease the concern on his face.

A smile tugged at Ignis’ mouth, despite himself. “I’m two years older than you, Noct, not twenty.”

The words, finally said out loud, echoed heavily between them, and both of their smiles faded. 

“Are we ever going to discuss it?” Ignis asked quietly. Noctis knew exactly what he meant. 

Noct’s hand jerked nervously against his cheek, cutting deeply with the razor, and he swore quietly. But before either of them could react, skittering blue sparks raced across the cut, knitting up the skin and healing the damage as if it had never happened. 

Ignis handed him a tissue wordlessly, though his expression spoke volumes.

“We will,” Noctis assured him, wiping the blood from his unmarked cheek, trying to push away the creeping dread that came whenever he was confronted by the reality of his unchanging face in the mirror. “But not tonight.” He managed a smile. “I don’t want to miss the party.”

Ignis nodded, jaw tight, but then he made a visible effort to smile. “As you wish.” He turned to leave but turned back and pressed a quick kiss to Noctis’ lips before he did. “Happy birthday, love.”

“Thanks, Specs,” Noctis replied, and finished shaving without looking himself in the eye. 

\---

Sometimes, Noctis thought about the two-year anniversary of the New Dawn. The Insomnian Metropolitan Museum had opened an exhibit commemorating the fall of the old city, the ten years of darkness, and celebrating everything that had been achieved since then.

Noctis had opened the exhibit. He’d had to make a speech but fortunately there was no actual ribbon for him to cut. 

A lot of the exhibit had been new to Noctis. He’d missed out on the dark years, and seeing pictures of how people had lived while waiting for him, was humbling. It wasn’t all sombre, though. A large part of the exhibit was made with Prompto’s photographs, and he was bouncing around, thrilled at the success of the event. 

“I never thought that people would be interested in my photos,” Prompto said, his eyes wide as he looked at the crowds. Noctis grinned at him, patting his arm. 

“Why ever not?” Ignis asked, coming up from behind them. “You’ve captured a unique historical record here, Prompto, of course people would want to see it.”

Noctis had wandered ahead, looking at the photographs on the wall. He’d seen them all before, or most of them at least, but it was different seeing them blown up large and on display. 

He’d stopped before one that was new to him. It was of Ignis and Ravus sitting across from each other with very serious expressions on their faces. Between them were masses of paper, maps and reports he couldn’t quite read, and the picture had been captioned by Prompto as “The first council of war between Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret and Royal Advisor Ignis Scientia.”

“That was not long after the Crystal,” Ignis said quietly, catching up to him. He reached for Noct’s hand and held it tightly.

“I can tell,” Noctis replied, his throat tight. The scars on his face looked freshly healed. 

“That’s where we decided to prepare for your return. So, you wouldn’t have to face _him_ alone.”

_“Him,”_ in that tone from Ignis, was always Ardyn. 

Noct stared at the picture for a moment longer, then turned to look at Ignis. “How did you know?” Ignis looked at him quizzically. “How did you know that… my fate could be changed? You never said how you figured it out.”

Ignis pushed his glasses up with his free hand, an old nervous gesture. “When Ardyn took me to the Crystal –” he broke off to squeeze Noct’s hand reassuringly as Noct took an instinctive step closer to him – “I discovered that absorbing the Crystal’s magic would make you more powerful than the gods. If I couldn’t come up with a plan to exploit _that_ , then I had no business calling myself a strategist.”

Noctis didn’t reply for a long moment. He’d known, from Bahamut’s teachings, that the Crystal’s magic would make him powerful, but he had never heard it in such blunt terms before.

“I’m not, though,” Noctis said, an element of panic creeping into his voice. “I’m just me. Not a god or anything like it.”

Ignis opened his mouth to reply, then studied Noct’s face for a moment, his face grave. Then he leaned towards Noct and whispered; “you are a _wonder,_ ” warmly against his ear, and any lingering fears went right out of his head as he tried to conceal his un-kingly blush from the public. 

Later, Noctis would realise that Ignis had done it on purpose, to distract him from a truth he wasn’t ready for. 

\---

The ironic thing was that when he first came out of the crystal, he had looked old in comparison to his friends. His hair was streaked with white; he’d walked with a limp and he had just looked _tired_ despite his ten-year nap. 

Now he looked almost impossibly youthful compared to his friends. 

Gladio and Prompto had both made jokes about the benefits about beauty sleep, but those jokes had faded away once he had turned forty-five and still looked the same. 

Ignis had joked with the others, at first. But he was also the first to notice the changes (or lack of changes) in Noctis, and the first to realise what that could mean. 

Noctis knew. Of course, he did. But he didn’t think he would ever be prepared for what it meant.

And it wasn’t just the fact he wasn’t aging, either. He’d noticed other changes since he left the crystal. 

When he warped now, he didn’t get tired. He’d pushed himself farther and faster to test it once, and where once he would have been an exhausted, aching mess, he was fine after it. 

More than fine, actually, he had been energised by the process and had not wanted to stop.

Magic came easily to him now. Sometimes he could feel it twisting and coiling inside him like it was trying to get his attention. He could draw unlimited energy, and he didn’t need to store it in canisters. Once, not long after the Dawn, there had been a fire in the still uninhabited city, and he had just… reached out his hand and absorbed the fire. All of it. He could have easily kept going, too.

And while the magic hadn’t healed the injuries to his body from before he’d entered the crystal, he hadn’t had so much as a scratch since. Even when the Royal Weapons burst out of his skin in the last fight with Ardyn, the damage had healed even before the pain hit him. 

He could _feel_ the Crystal’s magic inside him at all times, burning through his veins without pain. The only physical sign of the changing years was the fact that his eyes were gradually stained purple, the more magic he used. 

Noctis knew he was different now, and he mostly tried not to think about it. But there was no getting away from it.

He wasn’t aging. The thought frightened him, so he tried to ignore it. 

\---

Prompto was only fifty-seven when he died, and Noctis was not ready, he would never be ready for that.

It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at first. He’d just been more tired than normal. But he went from being tired to being exhausted, and from there Prompto had gradually started getting sicker and sicker, until he never left the hospital.

Noctis had tried everything. He’d consulted scientists, doctors, defectors from the old Empire. He’d poured his own magic into Prompto to no effect, offered all sorts of rewards, all to no avail. He just got worse. It was a degenerative condition, all the doctors said. Nothing to be done. 

And the worst thing was that Prompto just… accepted it. 

“I saw what I could’ve been, in that laboratory,” Prompto had said to him once. They were in the hospital, Noctis sat with him on his bed. They’d been playing a game, trying to be normal, but Prompto had stopped after about half an hour, exhausted, the controller abandoned next to him. “I’m lucky really. I’ve got you guys, and I’ve had fun, you know. It could’ve been a lot worse! I could have ended up…”

He trailed off, and Noctis knew that he was thinking of all the MTs that they had fought in their time. 

He smiled at Noctis, his skin pale and drained, lines of pain and exhaustion around his eyes and mouth, and said; “I’m happy, you know. Despite everything.”

After he had fallen asleep, Noctis had gone home and looked at himself in the mirror, at his purple eyes and unchanging face, and cried into Ignis’ shoulder as it hit him.

He was going to see everyone he loved die. Not just Prompto. _Everyone._

When Prompto finally did die, it was peaceful. He’d joked with Noctis and Gladio until he fell asleep and then simply didn’t wake up, and Noctis felt like he had been torn up inside. 

It wasn’t just him that was mourning, of course. Prompto was one of the heroes of the New Dawn, beloved by everyone. The streets were lined with mourners, the sanctuary packed for his memorial. Noctis hoped that Prompto knew, somehow, just how many people loved him.

But Noctis just felt empty inside, like he hadn’t felt since the fall of Insomnia, since Luna died. He’d lost his best friend. What was he going to do without him, without his jokes and endless optimism?

And the worst thing was, Noctis knew this was only the start. 

One day, he would be totally alone. 

\---

“I sometimes wonder if this is my fault,” Ignis murmured into his hair one night, not long after Prompto had died. 

Noctis wasn’t asleep, though he had thought that Ignis was. He had barely slept since Prompto’s death. The grief was weighing on him, but so was the fear. 

He’d had a glimpse of his lonely future, and he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

Ignis touched his fingers to Noct’s face for a moment, before drawing his hand away. “I sometimes fear that the gods are punishing you for my hubris. I meddled with their plans. I changed your fate. The gods do not take such things lightly, but I always presumed that their retribution would fall on me.”

Noctis rolled away from him just enough to flick on the light. This didn’t feel like a conversation that they should have in the dark. 

“I wouldn’t want the gods to _punish_ you, Iggy, not for anything,” Noctis said when he turned back, squinting a little in the sudden light. 

Ignis was squinting too, or at least Noctis hoped he was. He really hoped that he wasn’t holding back tears instead. 

“I was _desperate_ ,” Ignis said, not quite looking at him. “The thought of you dying, I – I would have done anything to stop it. I didn’t care about the consequences, because I thought that I would be the one experiencing them. And now…”

“I’m not aging,” Noctis said. It was the first time he had said it aloud. “My magic is stronger.”

“Stronger than the gods,” Ignis said quietly. “I fear that you are immortal, Noctis. And one day…”

“And one day I’ll be alone,” Noctis said quietly, but for some reason, saying it out loud made it seem more bearable, like it wasn’t a secret that he was struggling with alone any longer. In the face of Ignis’ distress, anything seemed endurable, as long as it made him feel better.

“I’m not sorry,” Noctis said to him, sitting up and taking Ignis’ hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “I would’ve died, if there had been no other way. It was my duty, and I would’ve followed it through. But I’m _glad_ that I didn’t. I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything, Iggy, or the time I got to spend with Prompto, and that I still have with Gladio and everyone else.”

“But one day, I’ll leave you,” Ignis whispered, and oh, those were tears in his eyes. Noctis couldn’t stand it. 

“Yeah, you will,” Noctis said to him quietly, the truth for the first time not scaring him, not in the face of Iggy’s fear. “But we’ll have had a whole _life_ together, that we never would have had if you hadn’t fought for me.”

Ignis smiled at him, a slow, genuine smile. “It was worth it.”

“And if I have to be alone for a thousand years, it’ll still be worth it,” Noctis assured him. 

Ignis frowned again. “I wouldn’t expect you to be alone for a thousand –”

Noctis rolled his eyes fondly and bent down to kiss Ignis. For the rest of that night, at least, their worries didn’t trouble them. 

\---

Gladio died quickly, and suddenly, and pointlessly. 

They had been walking back to their cars after a fundraising event when a gunshot rang out in the crowd and before Noctis could even began to react he found himself tackled from behind.

Even in his sixties, Gladio was strong and solidly built, but the pained gasp when they collided with the floor came from him, not from Noctis.

Noctis scrambled out from beneath him as quickly as he could, already feeling the horrible, warm sensation of someone else’s blood on his skin. Ignis was already there, putting pressure on the wound, and Noctis spent a helpless, useless moment staring. Gladio’s face was grey with pain. There was so much blood. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Noctis snapped at Gladio, out of fear, not anger. The fear was clawing at him on the inside, frantic and all consuming. He fought to push it away, to concentrate, to _fix this._

Noctis knelt down next to Gladio, pressing his hands against the wound on his chest alongside Ignis, magic _pouring_ out of him in a furious rush.

“The bullet is lodged deep,” Ignis said, his voice clipped and tense, moving his hands so that Noctis could work. “Be careful or you’ll heal it in there.” He glanced behind them, signalling for aid. Noctis could hear shouting in the crowd behind him, though he didn’t care whether they came from people trying to hurt him or help him.

His entire focus was on Gladio, and his slowing heartbeat. 

Gladio was panting in pain, but still bared his teeth in a grin at Noctis. “I’m still… your Shield,” he pointed out. “Not… gonna let anything… happen to you.”

Despite everything, he’d said it so surely, like there had never been any doubt, the same way he had once risked falling from a cliff to save Noct’s life, and it wounded Noct to hear it. 

“You know I can’t be hurt!” Noctis said, feeling his eyes prickle with tears he wouldn’t let fall. He needed to focus. Gladio’s blood was still flowing as quickly out of the wound as Noct’s magic was seeping in, despite his best efforts. 

“We… don’t know… that for sure,” Gladio replied, the effort it so clearly took for him to reply was painfully obvious. “You’re… my king.” 

“Are you two arguing?” Ignis asked incredulously, looking between them, tears in his own eyes. “ _Now_?”

Gladio let out a laugh that was barely a breath. “Wouldn’t have it… any other…”

Gladio’s eyes rolled back and then closed. His chest stilled under Noct’s hand and his magic pooled away, suddenly useless. 

Noctis bowed his head. Gladio was dead. It had taken less than two minutes. 

Noctis knelt next to his body for a long time, the numbness fading into anger, then into pain. 

He didn’t move for a long time, not while Kingsglaive encircled him (too late), or while medics arrived (too late) to take Gladio’s body away. It could have been minutes or hours later when he felt Ignis’ hand on his on his shoulder. Only then did he start crying, uncaring of the crowds and cameras. 

He’d lost another friend, and for _nothing._

“What will I tell Iris?” Noctis whispered. “His family?” 

“You’ll tell them that he was your Shield,” Ignis said quietly, though his own voice was unsteady. “They know what that meant to him.”

He let Ignis coax him to his feet and into the car. Noctis let Ignis usher him to their rooms and into the shower where he stood numbly under the scorching hot water. When he got out he looked at his reflection in the mirror. 

His young face, healthy like Prompto’s had not been, flushed with life while Gladio’s life had faded. Noctis slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering it into pieces. The magic healed his hand before he even registered the pain. 

Why couldn’t save anyone that he loved? What use was his power if he couldn’t do something so simple?

How was he going to live with this grief when it would last forever?

\---

Noctis woke with a gasp, struggling out of his blankets in a panic. He felt Ignis stir awake next to him, and reach out a hand to touch his back. 

“Noct?” he asked, still half asleep. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Noct replied, despite not seeing Iggy’s disapproving look in the dark but knowing it was there anyway. “Just a dream.”

Ignis’ hand didn’t move from his back, but Noctis felt him shift to turn on the light. 

“What was your dream?” Ignis asked him, his voice sleepy but alert.

“I dreamt of the Crystal,” Noctis told him slowly. “I fell into it again, but this time it was a prison and it wouldn’t let me go.”

“Why had it imprisoned you?” Ignis asked gently. 

Noctis shuddered, and Ignis moved closer. “I had become Ardyn,” he said quietly. 

“That will _never_ happen,” Ignis said fiercely. “Never.”

“Ardyn didn’t start off… like that,” Noctis pointed out. “Who knows what I’ll be like in a hundred years’ time. Two hundred? Longer, even. Anything could happen.”

“I do,” Ignis said, with all the unwavering faith that he had always shown in him. “I know who you are, Noct, and you are _nothing_ like him.”

Noctis glanced back over his shoulder at him, his mouth lifting a little into a smile despite his mood. Ignis genuinely needed his glasses now, so his gaze was a little unfocused. His expression was sleep-rumpled and soft, and Noctis loved him so ridiculously much. 

“I love you,” Noctis said aloud. “Like, a lot.”

“So eloquent,” Ignis teased, but Noctis saw the slight flush on his cheeks. Noctis knew that Ignis had been self-conscious about his age in comparison to Noct’s apparent youth, the deep lines around his eyes and mouth, his raised and swollen knuckles, his hair now white and wispy-soft. 

Noct thought that he was as gorgeous now as he had been when they were teenagers, but Ignis had taken some convincing. Part of Noct relished the ability to make him blush, since Ignis had done it so much to him when they were younger. 

“Do you feel any better?” Ignis asked him, cheeks still pink, and Noct nodded. 

“Yeah, thanks Specs.” Noct leaned over and flicked the light off, curling up next to him, soothed by the sound of his heartbeat and the feel of his hand stroking up and down his back. 

He didn’t sleep for a long time, though not because of nightmares. He wanted to capture this moment, keep it forever fresh in his memory, so that he would remember it when he was alone.

[Art](https://twitter.com/LuceniaMaem/status/1217733527032094721) by [LuceniaMaem](twitter.com/LuceniaMaem)

\---

Noctis was eighty, and Ignis eighty-two, on the day his world ended. 

Ignis had retired from public office a few years before (officially anyway, though he still advised Noctis in private) so he had been alone in their rooms while Noctis was in a meeting. Noct hadn’t thought anything of leaving him that morning. Ignis was healthy for his age, although he tired quickly. There had been nothing strange about that morning, no warning signs, nothing to concern him. 

He’d left Ignis in his chair with a book and a cup of coffee, pressing a kiss against his cheek in a quick, thoughtless goodbye, his mind already on his meeting. 

Ignis was still there when Noctis got back. His drink was cold next to him, his book on his lap, sunlight across his face. For a moment, Noctis had simply thought he was asleep, and he smiled fondly, before he realised that Ignis was too still, too peaceful, and his heart seized up in his chest. 

He walked slowly across the room; his mind frozen. It couldn’t be real. He’d touch Iggy’s hand and he would wake up, a little grumpy at being caught napping, and they’d have lunch together as normal. It would be fine. It would be fine.

Noctis reached out and touched Ignis’ hand. It was cold. 

His heart shattered. He dropped to his knees in front of his husband, his eyes filled with tears as he keened in agony. He’d known, they’d known, that this would happen, someday. That Ignis would die, and he would be left behind. He thought he’d been prepared for the pain.

He’d had enough practice at outliving those he loved, after all. 

But there was no preparing for this. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It was like being pierced through the soul with a shard of ice, stark and cold and painful. 

How could he go on without Ignis? He’d always been there, from Noct’s earliest memories. Noctis had always loved him, in different ways at different times, but Ignis had been the most consistent star throughout his life. 

Now he was alone beneath a dark and empty sky, and it _hurt._ It hurt so much. 

He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. If he had known that the last time he saw Ignis would be the last time… well, he would have never left him alone. 

He didn’t know how long he knelt there until one of his aides came to see what was holding him up. Everything happened very quickly after that. It was a blur to Noctis, doctors and advisers and friends swarming his rooms until he was finally left alone. 

Totally alone, in the rooms where they had lived a life together, where everything reminded him of Ignis, his hairbrush in the bathroom, his glasses by the bed, his favourite mug still full of coffee, all stinging reminders of Ignis’ absence. Noctis was surrounded by a thousand memories, all of them tangible ghosts haunting the edge of his vision. 

And he was alone.

Noctis buried his face into Ignis’ pillow and wept. “I love you,” he sobbed into the silence. “I’ll always love you.” 

But there was no answer, no smile, no wry quip, no clever green eyes looking warmly back at him. There never would be again. 

How could he go on without him? How was the world still carrying on as if nothing had changed?

But the dawn came again, as it had for the last fifty years, and Noctis knew that he had to find a way. 

\---

The funeral passed in a haze of memory that Noctis would only recall fragments of later. 

He’d made a speech, he knew (he would later see clips of it on television, shocked by his own pale face and the shadows under his purple eyes, though he never watched it in full) and there were tears, and stories, and memories shared, both by him and their friends, those that were left.

Ignis was _so loved_ by their people. He’d fought for their king after all, brought back the light. It helped, in a way, or it would later, to know that Noctis wasn’t the only one who grieved him. 

And Ignis took his place with the other consorts of the Lucian rulers, alongside his mother.

He’d find that comforting, later, a little. 

But Noctis knew that he couldn’t stay in Lucis, not for much longer, not after this. His home was full of ghosts and would only get fuller. Already he looked younger than Talcott’s children. He couldn’t watch everyone he knew grow old and die, not again.

And besides, at some point, he was sure Insomnia would object to being ruled by an immortal king. 

He didn’t leave right away. He made sure that there was a regent, that everything was in order, that there were procedures in place for any problems that occurred.Then he walked down the Citadel steps to start his journey, as he had so long ago.

But this time, he was alone, and his heart was aching inside his chest. 

He didn’t think it would ever stop. 

\---

The first few – weeks? Months? He was never sure, afterwards – after leaving Insomnia were a blur, lost to him in a haze of grief so heavy and overwhelming it was like a physical weight he was carrying with him every step of the way.

Everything reminded him of Ignis. Every rest stop, every cup of coffee, every time he looked at the night sky it was like opening a wound and feeling it bleed all over again.

Then one day, he felt something, a _tug_ in the magic that burnt inside him. He’d felt it before, every now and then, like when Insomnia had been burning, but he hadn’t known what it meant, and the feeling tended to fade quickly. This time, without really meaning to, Noctis found himself following it, all the way across Eos until he ended up at the Disc of Cauthess, not quite knowing how he got there or why he had even come.

Then he felt the earth tremble beneath him, and his magic pulse in response. Titan was long gone from the Disc, and he hadn’t come to Noctis since he had left the Crystal, but Noctis felt the answer somewhere inside of him and he knew why he had come.

He knelt down and poured his magic into the earth and the tremors stilled.

And Noctis found himself feeling ever so slightly better. He was alone, and it _hurt_ but he still had _purpose._ He could still be the Chosen King even if had left his kingdom behind him. And if there was meaning in his magic, maybe there was purpose in his immortality.

It helped to think it, anyway.

So Noctis followed the tugs in his magic, leading him wherever it felt he was needed. Ignis had told him once that the world was full of wonders, and he slowly started seeing it again.

He found himself smiling a little when he saw a wild chocobo, imagining Prompto’s delight. He imagined Gladio’s taunting encouragement when he got up early for run. He imagined the warmth of Ignis’ hand in his whenever he saw a shooting star and it started to ease the ache in his heart.

But it still hurt, no matter how far he wandered. He still missed Ignis, like a dull bruise that still ached. He missed his friends.

And he was so _tired._

\---

It was strange to get lost in his own city, but truth be told it wasn’t his city anymore. It had been three hundred years since Noctis had left home, maybe a bit longer. He had stopped counting a long time ago. 

Insomnia had grown since he had left. It had swallowed up Hammerhead a long time ago (though Cid’s garage had survived now a museum. He had seen a tour of uninterested kids looking around as he’d passed by, much to his amusement) and he had never seen this part of it before.

By the time he had reached the old city, the parts he remembered, it had been a good few hours since he had entered. He wasn’t really sure why he had come back, but he was just… tired.

He’d lived a dozen lifetimes since he had left the city, in between his wanderings. A hunter, a fisherman, a teacher, a researcher, and explorer. A cook, even, one time. That one had reminded him so strongly of Ignis – he still had Iggy’s book of recipes, carefully maintained after all these years – it had both hurt and comforted him. 

He’d kept moving, never lingering too long in one place. Maybe that was why he had come home. 

Truth be told, he was lonely.

If he had known it was the New Dawn celebrations though, he might have stayed away. He always found the celebrations to be _so awkward._

Sometime between after he had left Insomnia and now, the myth of the Chosen King had grown, and he was kind of worshipped now, by some people at least. It was weird, and uncomfortable and the ghost-Gladio that lived in his head never let up about it. 

For those people, the New Dawn celebrations had become a holy day, and when he reached the steps of the old Citadel, there was a group of kids from the Church of the Chosen King re-enacting the moment that Ignis had walked up the steps on the first day and found him.

It was the first time that Ignis had told him that he loved him, the first time Noct said it back, their first kiss. He still remembered it now so clearly.

And it hurt, it hurt so much, and only thinking about what this crowd would do if they realised that their Chosen King was standing in the crowd watching, wearing a t-shirt featuring anime characters so old it brushed right past retro and right into antique stopped him from crying. 

Noctis missed Ignis. He missed him _so much._ He missed his friends, his family.

The pain had faded over time – and he’d had nothing but time – but sometimes it came back, sharp as it had ever been. 

Watching a group of kids reenact a (somewhat overly dramatic) portrayal of the day he proposed to Ignis had woken that pain all the way up, and it took Noctis some time to refocus on what the priest was saying. 

“And so, the Chosen King reunited with his Consort,” the priest said, addressing the crowd. “And they lived happily until the Consort died, and the Chosen King left the city, trusting it to our rule. But he is not gone! He merely sleeps until he is needed.”

And Noctis, tired and heartsick, suddenly thought that was a good idea.

He stayed in the old city long enough to soak in the atmosphere and eat some snacks, memories of old festivals making him smile a little (more than one person complimented him on his purple contact lenses. He could hear the jokes that Prompto would have made in his head) before he started the trek back out of the city. 

There was nothing here for him now, and he knew that, but it had been good to visit, to put some old concerns to rest. Insomnia was thriving, as it should be, and he turned to his idea, running it over in his mind to check for flaws. 

He didn’t need to eat or drink, he knew, as his magic sustained him, although it was better for him when he did. He’d forgotten a few times, when his grief was at its worse, until he’d imagined Iggy’s disapproving look which had been enough to get him to start taking care of himself again. He didn’t think Ignis would mind this too much, though. Noctis was weary down to his soul. 

He just wanted to rest. To not think for a while. A long while. 

He reached the shores of Angelgard easily enough (money was no object, and he still knew how to sail) and he smiled to see two bored Kingsglaive there. 

Insomnia was a republic now, had been for nearly two hundred years, but the Kingsglaive still had a symbolic role. One of their duties was still to guard this place, to keep out looters or explorers. 

Noctis wondered if Ignis had thought of him when he suggested that this place still be protected. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were true, that Ignis was still looking out for him after all this time. 

Noctis just looked at the Kingsglaive as they approached him, let them see his purple eyes, the way he summoned his father’s sword. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked them. 

One of them bowed. The other was too much in shock. Part of Noctis wanted to laugh 

“Wake me if there’s any trouble,” he told them. “If Eos needs the Chosen King.”

He walked past without waiting for them to comment, back to the still familiar place where he had awoken all those years ago. 

It seemed appropriately symbolic to sleep here. It was a good thing he was used to camping. 

He closed his eyes, and let his mind drift away, a deep sleep falling over him like a weighted blanket. 

_In his dream, he was in the Regalia, and Ignis was driving. The road lay wide open before them._

_Ignis met his eyes in the mirror and smiled. They had all the time in the world._

**Author's Note:**

> Prompto dies of a degenerative illness in his fifties. 
> 
> Gladio dies protecting Noctis from an assassination attempt in his sixties. 
> 
> Ignis dies peacefully in his sleep in his eighties.


End file.
